


The Library

by Mamahub



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Fix-It, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-03
Updated: 2014-06-03
Packaged: 2018-02-03 05:36:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1733021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mamahub/pseuds/Mamahub
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post-Season 3 Fix-It.   After a year of hiding, our Heroes have found a way back to each other, and to helping people in need... after a fashion.  With a guest appearance by one of our favorite Anti-Heroes and his awesome Boss, who have been dreadfully missed this season.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Library

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TimelessDreamer2](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TimelessDreamer2/gifts).



A devilishly handsome man with a scar running from his eye down his cheek sauntered his way towards the newly opened wine and single malt whiskey bar on the Upper East Side called “The Library”. Rumor had it that there was a hidden speakeasy jazz club called “The Reading Room” in the back for special clientele. 

The Boss had sent his right hand man on this errand to meet with the proprietor, Henri Cormorant, after several failed attempts by underlings to garner the proper protection money. The minions had reported that their attempts were foiled by Monsieur Cormorant and his own three guard dogs, two human and one canine. Such disrespect was not to be tolerated.

Scarface was confident that he would be successful, however, and swung the door open to a beautifully appointed, old world lounge and bar. The rich leather banquettes and mahogany floors shone from the light reflected from the backlit display of decorative wine and whiskey bottles lining the side wall behind the bar. The whole place screamed of elegance and money. Scar was even more determined to receive some of it as the proper tribute for his monarch.

The beautiful, petite brunette with a sullen face behind the bar visibly tensed as she watched him enter. He pretend not to notice her left hand reaching down to presumably press a button underneath the bar while her right hand slowly moved to the small of her back . "May I help you sir?" she asked in a cold voice as he approached the bar. 

"I'm here to speak with your boss. Now," he ordered. 

"He's a very busy man. Do you have an appointment?" she asked as she appraised him with cold, speculative eyes. 

"I don't need an appointment. Tell him Elias sent me," he retorted confidently.

At that same moment, a door seamlessly swung out from what had appeared to be a solid mahogany wall on the far side of the room. Scar quietly gasped as a tall, silver haired and goateed man dressed entirely in black stepped through. Behind him limped a distinguished gentleman wearing a black tuxedo and apron with a sommelier's silver cup on a chain around his neck. He was also accompanied by a beautiful but highly alert dog, much like the man in front of him. 

"Good evening, Mr. Marconi," said the shorter man with a flawless French accent. "We have been expecting you. Please, have a seat and let us discuss our business. Would you like some wine?" 

Scar shook his head as Monsieur Cormorant gestured to a table in the back. The gentleman generously allowed Scarface to sit facing the door, though he himself was shadowed by the man in black who stood glowering directly behind his chair. 

"So this is what you boys have been doing" Scar said. "You disappeared off our radar screen for the past year and the Boss thought you must have been nabbed by the Eye in the Sky." 

"I appreciate your concern for our well being", replied Monsieur Cormorant. "As you can see, we have changed businesses. We understand that your employer feels he has an interest in our new venture. I can assure you, however, that his 'protection' is quite unnecessary. As a gesture of good will, however, please tell him that I would be pleased to meet with him for a game of chess at his convenience. If he would like to discuss mutually beneficial business in any further detail, we can do so then. In the meantime, my Partner, Mr. Rivera, will see you out." 

"Thanks but no thanks," he said as he rose. "I'll see myself out. I'm sure you'll hear from the Boss soon." 

Rivera, who now more resembled a pirate than an ex-CIA agent, not unexpectedly shadowed Marconi to the door and stepped outside with him. "You don't give us any trouble, and we won't give you any trouble, same as before," husked Rivera.

"No promises. Watch yourselves," Scar said as he glanced up and down the street, "and not just from us. Trouble is right around every corner." And he sauntered back down the street, tunelessly whistling. 

The silver haired man squinted in the glare of the late afternoon sunlight, and disappeared back inside the sanctuary of The Library. He joined Monsieur Cormorant and his compatriot at the bar.

"Who was that? Shouldn't we take care of him?" asked the lethal beauty as she glanced between the two men. 

"Ms. Sable, that was Anthony Marconi, lieutenant to one of the most powerful Mob bosses in the city now, Carl Elias," answered Cormorant. "They could actually be very useful in our new venture, as they have eyes and ears all over the city. As our own electronic means of intelligence gathering is highly circumscribed at the moment, human intelligence may allow us to continue assist those who need our help. If Mr. Elias is willing, of course."

"I don't trust them," growled Mr. Rivera. 

"James," said Cormorant as he patted Rivera's arm lightly, "we don't have to trust them completely. I have confidence in Mr. Elias' curiosity, greed and power mongering that he will see us as potential assets rather than a threat. Even if he does not wish to actively help us with intelligence, he will not turn us in to the authorities. Our business here at The Library and the stash of cash I have hidden will be enough bait to hold his selfish monetary interests even if his altruism does not extend to being of assistance to us. In the meantime, we have customers."

Indeed, the late-afternoon was drawing to a close and The Library was beginning to gradually fill with the nouveau riche clientele that was attracted by its comfortable yet elegant ambiance. Some who had special badges were admitted into the Reading Room in the back, where light jazz could be heard when the invisible door was swung open. All the customers had come to gradually value the electronic "silence" of the establishment, as the location and construction of the historic building placed it firmly within a dead zone. Not a single bar of cell phone service made its way through the ultra thick walls. While it took some getting used to, those who normally were plugged into all manner of electronic communications came to highly value the old fashioned peace and quiet of one-on-one human interaction. 

Ms. Sable resumed her position at the bar serving glasses of single malt whiskey, while Rivera circulated through the tables taking orders for light refreshments and cocktails. Monsieur Cormorant alternated appearances between rooms, giving his highly sought-after recommendations for the best wine on the East Coast. Another evening of assisting the overworked and stressed clientele to relax had begun for the striking trio. 

Each of them kept an ear out for snatches of gossip relating to events in the neighborhood and city, large and small. Much later, after the evening had drawn to a close, our heroes would convene in Monsieur Cormorant's private office to discuss, strategize and plan a potential return to their former calling. 

Sometimes, on a good day, they were able to piece together news of a neighborhood resident in need of assistance. Then, they would stealthily and efficiently help that person in need, sometimes through physical protection (Ms. Sable's favorite) and sometimes financially (Monsieur Cormorant's favorite). 

Sometimes, on a very good day, they were visited by another beautiful brunette who snuck into the back of the speakeasy through the off-the-map underground tunnels attached to the subway system. She would bring them news of larger events outside their narrow frame of existence. Lately, she had even brought glimmers of hope in that her "god" had begun softly speaking to her again on a sporadic basis. 

They each clung to these straws as a lifeline to their former lives. So they worked. And watched. And listened. And waited. And lived their new lives. Together. And that was a comfort to all of them.

**Author's Note:**

> This is a birthday gift to the amazingly talented TimelessDreamer2, with many thanks to LindaO for inspiration and ideas - including a slight nod to the locations in her Chaos Universe fics. Apparently I write only when under express birthday deadlines. I do a lot of thinking, and very little writing of it down. So this was a good kick in the butt to actually get something on paper. Or on the computer, as the case may be. I hope you enjoy it. Not beta-ed.


End file.
